


Mercy

by wook77



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wook77/pseuds/wook77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Anything would be better than what he's going through, what he's forcing himself to endure for you. It's then that words like 'mercy' and 'selfish' come to mind, as you sit here in a dark room listening to his wheezing, gasping breath, like a fish pulled from the ocean as it wriggles on a hook like when you were five and your father took you out into the bay to fish, just you and him and the water. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>**See A/N for non-archive warnings**</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Written while listening to "Justin's Breakdown" from The Constant Gardner on repeat and pondering thoughts of euthanasia (canine rather than human, I promise). This isn't a happy fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: This fic addresses the concept of euthanasia.**

You watch him, while he lies there silent, gasping for breath and wheezing in between. You think about all the conversations that you've had with him. With the doctors. With friends. With family. You think about words like 'mercy' and 'best' and 'selfish' and 'lost'. 

What you don't think about is a word like 'dying'. You won't think about it. You refuse. He's not dying because _that_ is what's selfish here. John's sacrificed himself for everyone, has been willing to die to save everyone in the fucking galaxy so he better damned well be willing to live for you. 

It's not selfish that you're not willing to give him up just yet. You spent years giving him up for others, giving up everything you wanted and desired. Everything you dreamed of. It doesn't get much more unselfish than that. 

It's been a week since the last time he'd woken. Even then, it had only been for a few minutes and there hadn't quite been enough time for words. There'd only been time for gasping breath, clasping hands and lips pressed against lips. You can't quite shake the feeling of having his breath puff against your lips as he went silent, exhaling all the air in his lungs against your sensitive and swollen flesh. It's almost like he died at your kiss, like a reversal of all those fairy tales. As if you're Prince Death rather than Prince Charming. 

If anyone's going to be Prince Charming, it's going to be John Shepard. The man is the epitome of a dashing, handsome prince. He even has a modern equivalent of a devoted steed though you really don't think that Joker and EDI would appreciate the parallel. Whether that makes you the princess he woke from sleep or saved from an apple or a dragon, you don't know. Don't really care, either. It just makes you hopelessly in love with him. 

It's been almost a month since you last saw him up and walking, tottering on his legs as he tried to make them do what his brain told them to do. You remember the way that he'd wobbled, listing to the side as he'd struggled forward, almost spinning in a circle on his way. You think about how his hand had reached out, batting through the air until you came over to him, held him up while he struggled to the chair. You remember the weight of him but, more, you remember the way that he'd looked. The shock and the upset, the confusion and the panic. You remember it all and, even now, you just want to fix it. Maybe take it onto yourself. 

Anything would be better than what he's going through, what he's forcing himself to endure for you. It's then that words like 'mercy' and 'selfish' come to mind, as you sit here in a dark room listening to his wheezing, gasping breath, like a fish pulled from the ocean as it wriggles on a hook like when you were five and your father took you out into the bay to fish, just you and him and the water. 

Your father's words then are with you now. You can hear him as he lectures you on what cruelty is, how it's unfair to leave something to suffer like that. How it's your decision whether the fish lives or dies but it's cruel to leave it dangling in the air as it struggles to survive. "All of life's like that, Kaidan," he'd said, "you have to make decisions every day. If you really want to follow in your old man's footsteps, you're going to need to learn how to make that decision. Does the fish live? Or does it die?" 

You remember the power that you had right then and there. You'd looked that fish in the eye and you just couldn't let it suffer any longer as you'd yanked it off the hook as gently as possible and then tossed it back into the sea where it could live. "Mercy is the sign of a great leader," your father had said, clapping you on the back. "But it looks like we won't have anything to take home to your mother." 

"I don't like fish anyway," you'd retorted and your father had laughed, his voice echoing over the water and into the trees. 

Mercy _is_ the sign of a great leader. John's shown you that in countless ways, whether sparing your life on the Citadel or sparing the lives of countless others. Mercy is curing the genophage, ending the Krogan's years of suffering. Mercy is showing that the Geth have souls and supporting their quest for life. Mercy is tossing the fish back into the water to live far away from him. 

And mercy is telling John that it's all right to leave you. That you'll be fine, even if you won't. That you'll see him again, in a bar up in the sky somewhere, if there's any sort of God like Ashley had believed. Mercy is telling John to save him a seat, maybe next to him and Ashley, order him a pint of Canadian lager and ask for a steak sandwich to be delivered when he sits down on that stool so he'll have something to eat because the journey to the other side is sure to make him hungry. Mercy is trying to crack a joke between tears as you grip his hand and trace the veins. 

Anything but fish, you try to say, stumbling over the words.

Anything but fish.


End file.
